


Pride Tide

by lemoninagin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Surfers, First Kiss, Lance gives Keith surfing lessons, M/M, Surfing, Underwater Kiss, and everything goes about how you would expect it to, it still happens in the canon storyline, kissing in the ocean, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 16:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8292574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoninagin/pseuds/lemoninagin
Summary: He’d stared up, watched the differing patches of sunlight play the most stunning array of colored patterns across Keith’s pale face as he grinned mischievously over him. Time slowed, his own breathing became laboured and caught in his throat.“You can teach me, right?” Keith had asked in a shyer voice than usual, brushing the tangled mess of his windswept hair away from his eyes and cocking his head towards the boards.





	

“Dude, you’re not listening to me.” 

  


Lance groans for about the twentieth time that day, paddling over to Keith to try and steady his board. Keith jabs him away with the bony underside of his foot stubbornly, and as he does, he loses balance again and tumbles right into the wave he was “attempting” to catch.

  


As he resurfaces, sputtering water and looking much like a drowned, very ornery cat, Lance can’t help but laugh. Keith splashes water into his face out of spite, and even as it temporarily blinds his vision, Lance considers it was definitely worth provoking.

  


Since he can’t ever seem to let anything go, Keith puts as much distance as he can between them, dragging the board alongside him as he flounders against the currents. He remounts it with what little dignity he has left, smooths back the plastered mop of his hair while making a disgruntled noise.

  


“Shut up and just...let me concentrate, I think I - ah, shit - got it now…”

  


But he doesn’t have it, he doesn’t fucking have it all.

  


Shaking his head, Lance watches Keith struggle to balance on the center of the board. He’s straddling it in the oddest position ever, legs spread too wide, arms shaking as it rocks precariously forward and back. He’s so far towards the front of it that there’s no way he’ll be able to stand up without pitching face first into a wave. Lance can’t bring himself to point out that the only reason he isn’t already is because of the momentum of the tide pulling at that moment. As soon as it pulls back again, gravity is going to work its magic, and it’s not going to be pretty.

  


Lance is almost tempted to keep his mouth shut and not correct him just so he can laugh more at his expense, but he can’t keep sitting idly by as Keith wipes out over and over again. It’s gone far past exasperating and is officially into the territory of pathetically sad at this point.

  


“Keith, don’t you dare try and stand, you’ll never make it, man!” he calls, hands cupped around his mouth to carry the sound across the roar of the water. 

  


Keith only flops onto his stomach (which at least is a better position, even if he is still too far forward), slices his hands in the water with a distinctively sharp splash, and paddles aggressively farther away.

  


Lance sighs, leaning back wearily on his own board. He kicks his legs, relishing in the cool of the water as it slaps against his skin, and counts slowly backwards from twenty. 

  


When they’d first landed on this planet that happened to have the only oceans and beaches they’d come across since their journey began, Lance had been overjoyed, practically kissing the sand and worshipping the waves. It’d felt like a lifetime ago since he’d held onto the gentle grooves of a board, since he’d felt the warm ocean breeze caressing his face, since he’d deeply inhaled the distinct sharp salt of the brine mixed with the scent of greasy foods cooking and suntan lotion. Seemingly ages since he’d basked in the harsh rays of the sun, dozing in a half-asleep, half-awake state of bliss while taking in the sounds of kids screeching by the pier and salsa music filtering from nearby beachgoers stereos.

  


Looking out across the water at the triple sunrise in the distance, however, he realized that it might as well have been a lifetime ago, because the strange scenery both comforts and uneases him. The sky is permanently blood red, the water more purple than blue. It's unnervingly quiet besides the chattering of his fellow paladins in the distance, and surely there's no garlic knots cooking anywhere. He reminds himself that maybe this isn’t home, but damned if it isn’t close enough, and he’ll honestly take whatever he can get.

  


For a while, he remained simply sitting in the sand, sighing at the feel of it slipping and shifting between his toes. He’d laid back, been about to nod off, when Keith had come over and gently shook his shoulder. Cracking open an eye, he’d snapped to attention the moment he saw what Keith had brought - two large surfboards, put together with some materials apparently with the help of Pidge. He almost didn’t know what to say, disbelieving that Keith even remembered him mentioning having been into surfing.

  


He’d stared up, watched the differing patches of sunlight play the most stunning array of colored patterns across Keith’s pale face as he grinned mischievously over him. Time slowed, his own breathing became laboured and caught in his throat.

  


_ “You can teach me, right?” _ Keith had asked in a shyer voice than usual, brushing the tangled mess of his windswept hair away from his eyes and cocking his head towards the boards.

  


Lance thought it would be fun. He thought this might finally be his chance to really impress Keith, which was something he’d for some reason wanted to do a lot more of lately. There was this unnamed emotion drawing him to notice small things about the boy he never really cared to focus on before, like paying close attention to the mundane things he talked about, and enjoying watching him smile. 

  


So maybe he’d jumped up a little too eagerly, maybe he’d accidentally-on-purpose lingered on brushing Keith’s hand as he took the board from him. Maybe he’d momentarily froze and let his mouth hang stupidly open when Keith stripped off his outer armour so he was only in that skin tight, one piece under suit. 

  


So what? He was only human. A human with a desire to sweep Keith off his feet by showing his finesse in something he had real skill in.

  


Looking back on it now, Lance rolls his eyes at his past self. How could he forget how competitive and hotheaded Keith could get?

  


Trying to think positively, he congratulates himself for at least accomplishing the ‘sweeping off his feet’ part. He shoves down the fact that it’s because Keith  _ literally _ keeps consistently losing his footing, which is a technicality Lance really doesn’t care to address at the moment. He’s not a bad teacher - Keith is just a sore ass loser.

  


Cursing wildly and wondering why this boy is being so damn difficult, Lance fights over a few swells so he can be closer in case Keith actually does start drowning - which at the rate he’s going, will probably happen any second now.

  


Keith shoots him a dirty glare through the drenched strands of his hair, not even bothering to try and keep it out of his face anymore, and flips him off. Lance can’t believe a person can seriously be this fucking obstinate.

  


“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Come on and let me fucking help you, you’re the one who asked me to teach you in the first place!”

  


“I don’t need your help!”

  


Lance flinches at the amount of water Keith kicks back at him as he draws closer, and he could care less if it’s purposeful or not. Keith is once again trying to push himself up into a sitting position, which is insanely dumb considering a large wave is in the midst of breaking in front of him.

  


Losing the last of his cool, Lance grits his teeth and repeats something his own mother used to yell at him, “ _ ¡ _ _ Me tienes hasta el último pelo, Keith _ !

  


“Stop making fun of my hair, that joke is seriously so old!”

  


“Ugh, I’m not,” Lance finally gets a hold of the end of Keith’s board, slipping off his own to go in for a sneak attack as a last resort, “It’s an expression where I’m from, just, let me--”

  


Keith whips his head back right as Lance smiles in victory, creeping his hands forward and slapping them on Keith’s thighs to stop them from shaking. Curling his fingers hard around them, he says with a laugh, “ _ Gotcha, jerk _ .” 

  


Startled by being steadied out and touched so suddenly, Keith lurches back, causing the front of the board to pitch into the air and pop out from underneath him. Hands flying out, he smacks right into Lance as he sinks, fumbling to steady himself on anything solid - which unfortunately happens to be Lance’s hair.

  


Lance takes in a deep breath in preparation right before he’s inevitably pulled harshly underwater along with him. Keith’s fingers don’t relent their grip, and he’s like the world’s clingiest anchor, body wrapping around Lance’s tightly in panic, effectively keeping them both from being able to escape.

  


Used to being sucked into riptides growing up, Lance opens his eyes easily, trying to figure out the best way to get Keith to let the fuck go so they both don’t drown in the middle of the ocean, with their friends wondering what the fuck happened as well as fucking over the entire universe in the process, on some strange planet like a bunch of fools.

  


This is not how he wants them to leave their legacy.

  


Keith’s face is so close to his, eyes snapped shut with his feet kicking in a vain attempt to keep from sinking further, burbling little bubbles as his fingers grapple in the strands of Lance’s hair.

  


So Lance does the only thing he can think of with his brain becoming more and more oxygen deprived - he forcefully presses his lips against the purpling ones hovering in front of him. And it works, the hands tugging him down instantly release, Keith’s eyes flutter open in surprise. Lance kicks quickly, grabbing the sleeve of Keith’s suit and pulling him up along with him.

  


Once they reach the surface, they’re relieved to find that one of the boards is still nearby, and the two pull themselves over either side as they pant heavily and try to catch their breath.

  


“Did you--” Keith pauses, chokes and spits up some water. He rubs at his eyes for a while before he blearily opens them and stares at Lance in shock. “--did you just fucking kiss me?”

  


Lance tightens his grip on the board, about two fucks away from flipping it over to toss Keith’s sorry ass back in the water. “ _ You _ almost  _ killed _ us, I don’t think you have any room to be bitching about a little smooch,  _ princes-- _ ”

  


Lance isn’t at all prepared when Keith leans over his side of the board, and instead of maybe slapping him, his cold lips are capturing his in a bruising kiss. 

  


“Mmph!”

  


It hurts a little, as Lance’s lungs are already straining, his mouth still holding a bit of seawater. But he’s returning the kiss with as much enthusiasm as he can manage, lips sliding over Keith’s insistently and opening his mouth to slip his tongue inside. 

  


Keith makes this fucking  _ noise _ , a cross between a whimper and moan, breath hitching softly. The waves are moving them slowly, the rhythm of the ocean synching with the way they scramble to get closer, the way Keith’s fingers once more tangle in his hair. He’s sucking on Lance’s lower lip, biting it gently, letting his legs drift up and wrapping them around Lance’s waist. The board is shaking as they push against each other urgently, Lance reaches equally as unsteady hands to cup either side of Keith’s face.

  


“Oi!” A voice calls - Pidge, Lance thinks - rudely in the distance, jolting them away from each other fast. “Quit being gay and come back to shore! We’re leaving!”

  


“Oh,  _ god _ ,” Lance breathes, face flushed and boxers feeling more than a little tight. The water isn’t doing anything to quench the fire stretching out to every extremity on his burning, tingling body. All he can do is stare dumbfoundedly at Keith, who’s grinning from ear-to-ear, cheeks looking a dark cherry color doubled with being bathed in the blood red hue of the sky. Lance thinks his brain may have shut down. “What, I, you, huh?”

  


“Thanks for the lesson,” Keith says, not explaining a fucking thing. He winks, and then pushes himself away from the board and does a fancy backwards dive into the water. He resurfaces several feet in front of Lance with the most shit eating grin before he swims seamlessly towards the shore without looking back or stopping, as if he’s some professional.

  


It takes Lance at least a few minutes before he realizes he has legs again, and about five more before he remembers how to use them.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [1] _Me tienes hasta el último pelo (Cuban slang)_ : Literally ‘You have me up to/by the last hair’. Basically, an expression that means ‘you’re driving me nuts and I can’t take much more’. Keith isn’t paying much attention and takes it too literally, not knowing the nuance of the slang, thinking it’s some jab at his hair…I headcanon him as knowing Spanish, but only very textbook level, which causes a lot of stress on Lance’s part, haha (or works in his favor, maybe...hmmm…)
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> I couldn't stop thinking about this when [Jeremy Shada mentioned in an interview](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XfHNZgd2jSE) about Lance and surfing, and then Moth requested this, so...had to be written.....


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